Does Anybody Here Remember?
by Unintended Harmony
Summary: Something told him she wasn't just being cliche when she said they'd meet again. She swore she'd never forget him. He didn't care. She had been nothing but a nusiance, but now she was gone... and he knew he had to remember her, whether he liked it or not.
1. Vera

**Hey everyone. Glad the title/summary caught your eye. This is my first Newsies fic, and I'm hoping that you all will like it. I am open to suggestions in reviews, as well as constructive criticism. Flame if you feel you must, but only if there's a legit reason why. "This story sux" is not legit. Also, I would like to point out that, while inspired by a song; this story is not a songfic. Though perhaps you'll catch a lyric or two from random songs, and if you do, you get a cookie ) The first chapter isn't incredibly newsie-oriented, but it's mostly a prologue. You will see more of our beloved newsies in the next chapter, but for now it's mostly about Vera, my OC. Major thanks to Morbidlyartistic for being my beta!**

**I'll have "Suggested Listening" for some of the chapters, hoping that certain music will help with the mood. If the music simply isn't your style, it's all good. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

**Suggested Listening:** **"Vera" - Pink Floyd (off of the album _The Wall_)**

**"Runaway" - P!nk (off of the album _I'm Not Dead_)**

"_Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?  
Remember how she said that we would meet again,  
__Some sunny day  
Vera… Vera…__What has become of you?  
Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?"_

_-Pink Floyd_

They cleaned her up nicely. They put a tattered white ribbon in her hair (one of Sarah's old ones) and dressed her in a clean shirt and pants. Putting her in a dress would have been too expensive, and she wouldn't have liked it much. They even washed her short, normally wiry hair, usually the color of muddy sand, but you could now see that it was plain dark blonde. Her light gray cap lay next to her in the crude wooden box. It was her last day above ground; she should look nice for once in her life. Well, not really her life anymore.

Most say that a funeral is a celebration of someone's life once they died, but her life wasn't much to celebrate. Her life wasn't the best of them out there, but certainly not the worst. She liked it well enough. She always had a goal she worked towards each day, somehow thinking she got closer when in reality, all she did was push it farther away. Perhaps if she hadn't tried so hard, things might have been different. Not too different though. No matter how she had handled her goal, Vera Lynn Scott, better known as Dodger, would still be dead.

Young boys in ragged clothes and caps stood around the modest grave. It was simply a hole in the ground with a stone which read, "Dodger" scrawled in clumsy, boyish handwriting with old ink. It would wash off with the next storm, but that didn't mean it wasn't still there. She too would soon wash away, out of the memories of the boys she had spent her days with, yet that didn't mean she had never been there. Altogether, she was a forgettable girl. Not pretty like Sarah or smart like Medda. You may forget who Dodger was, but when she was there, you knew.

The one who knew the best was Spot. He was probably the only one who _would_ remember her. He couldn't get rid of the girl, no matter how badly he wished to. He was stuck with her for as long as she stayed in Brooklyn and made it clear that she was latched on, no matter how hard he tried to shake her off. She was a thorn in his side, but he had a small lick of respect for her. Not because she was brave or smart.

She was honest.

* * *

"Mama is supper ready yet?" the young girl asked lazily sitting down at the kitchen table. The moment she sat down, her mother's voice deepened into an almost threatening tone.

"Don't trudge that street scum all over my clean floor." She said firmly. Obedient as always, the girl removed her leather boots and placed them outside the kitchen in the threshold. She repeated her question as she entered the fruit wall-papered room for a second time. The floor no longer in jeopardy, the pretty blonde woman of about thirty-four ignored her. She had picked up the newspaper on the table and began to skim the headlines. Her yellow curls bounced a bit as she turned to her husband as he entered the room. He kissed her cheek, nodding somewhat robotically to the young girl in the room.

"Felix, have you seen the headlines? Nothing ever happens in this town." She said almost pouting for the lack of gossip. The tall man sitting next to her looked at the paper as well and his expression went sour. The Scotts without something to gossip about with the neighbors, who admittedly didn't like them very much, were much like a carriage without a horse. One was dependent on the other to go forward.

"Hmmm…" Felix mused for a moment considering his next statement. He was the one in the family to think before speaking. His wife, Donna, was more the type to say anything to get people talking, be it true or not. From blatant lies to obscene observations about friends and neighbors, if it could be conceived as something to talk about, it would come out of Donna Scott's mouth, regardless of whom it may offend. While Felix considered, the young girl piped up once more.

"Mama," she said quietly. Felix inhaled sharply at one of the smaller, seemingly less important articles.

"The mayor is a moron." He said finally. He probably didn't know why he came to this decision. While Felix Scott gave the impression that he was a smart man, he hadn't finished school and was a factory worker. The life that he and his wife tried to live, that of an affluent, well-to-do family living in a quiet part of Brooklyn, was nothing more than a sham, put on by two people who were completely wrong for each other, who couldn't accept being working-class.

"Mama… supper?" the girl said once more. Donna looked at her sharply.

"Vera, I told you, there's soup on the stove." She responded her voice not even attempting to mask her irritation. The young girl sat facing the other side of the kitchen, not having seen the stove when she entered the room both times.

"No you didn't." she said. Donna rolled her eyes and continued searching for bits of hot talk in the paper, fiddling with a piece of unattractive gaudy jewelry around her neck.

This was the basic flow of life in the Scott household. It was a tiny little apartment with a draft in a middle-class neighborhood. Vera was the daughter of Felix and Donna, though one would usually not know it. She was next to invisible in their gossip-filled, plastic little lives. Like much of her mother's flashy jewelry, she was just for show.

Perhaps if she had been the perfect daughter they imagined she might be less translucent. Perhaps if she had been a pretty, filled-out, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed blonde like her mother, rather than a skinny girl with plain brown eyes, barely blonde hair that hung like limp twine and pale skin stretched over features which didn't particularly catch the eye, they would show her off a bit more. Perhaps if she didn't struggle so much in school, or even if she stayed the goggle-eyed, spacey girl she was and courted a well-off young man, Felix and Donna might realize she was there.

Vera sat at the table quietly sipping her soup. A small bit fell out of her spoon and dripped onto the floor. As soon as the hot liquid sizzled on the dirty tile of the kitchen, Donna rolled her eyes again before returning her glance to the paper that Vera could tell she was not actually reading. Many an evening had been spent this way. The Scott household had seen a thousand silent dinners with cold air playing about the room, despite the warm fire which crackled below the mantelpiece. After fourteen years of awkward silences that never ended, a small test was taken by the girl who seemed to be made of cellophane. After all, they probably would ignore her anyway.

"Ma, I know how much you like that blue dress, but you should know that it makes you look fat." Vera said randomly, sipping on her soup. Nothing. Vera laughed silently to herself. She tried again. "You know Mama; I think it might be nice to drown in the river. It's warm this time of year." Still nothing. Even someone as empty-headed as Donna would turn their head at the idea of the East River ever being warm. A true Brooklyn native would at least. About five minutes later, Donna turned to her daughter.  
"What?" she said. Vera shook her head.

"Ma, I think all that crap on your face is making you go crazy. You're hearing things. Chemicals can do that you know." She said flatly. Donna stared at her blankly, her face contorting slightly at her daughter's statement. Felix looked at her oddly as well.

In her life, almost every conversation with her parents had gone this way. She kept telling herself that they loved her, and they did, but occasionally… well, more than just occasionally, they forgot. When she was younger, she would forget too. She had tried to run away before but always found herself returning, realizing that her parents hadn't noticed. She hoped this time they would.

Vera let out a quick sigh. "Love you Ma. You too Pop." She said quietly. She stood and pushed her bowl to the center of the table. She kissed both of her parents quickly on the cheek and disappeared into the next room. Donna and Felix simply looked at one another and returned to their hunt for anything interesting in the paper.

Vera grabbed the small jar she kept by her bed which had almost six dollars in it and shoved it into a rucksack along with the rubber band which had come wrapped around the Evening Edition, as well as a few other things from her tiny room. She opened her parents' closet not wanting to run away in her light green dress which had never fit right. The extra bits of fabric at the front sagged awkwardly, as she had nothing to fill them out with. She selected an old shift and a pair of gray pants of Felix's, as well as a gray cap. She removed two dollars from her savings jar and tucked them into the side of the cap. _'If I get robbed, at least they won't get all of it.'_ She thought to herself.

After quietly going back to the threshold to collect her boots, she left through the fire escape, being sure to loudly close the window. Her parents remained in the kitchen, oblivious to all that surrounded them. With one quick look back and a small twinge of possible sadness, or likely fear in her stomach, she climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the night.

Their apartment in Brooklyn resided on a street that was generally quiet, though they did have a few hooligans who would rile things up every now and again, but were stowed away for the moment on this particular night.

It was roughly eight o'clock in the evening, and being spring still in the twilight hours. Vera quietly crossed the yards of neighboring apartments absentmindedly knocking over a lawn jockey every now and then. She wandered about the streets losing track of time. True, she didn't know where she was going, but she was determined to get farther than she had before in previous attempts.

The farthest she had ever gotten was four blocks over to the sweetshop, but had returned home when a thunderstorm began. She was twelve then. After walking for about half an hour she found herself in a park she used to play in as a child. She sat down on a swing and took off her rucksack opening it in her lap. There was a quick gust of wind and she shivered a bit. Thankfully the season was warm; as Felix's thin yellow shift wasn't much protection from bad weather. She reached into the rucksack and pulled out a small pillow she had packed. Hugging it close she sighed. There was a rustle from a nearby bush and she turned sharply startled. It was an older gentleman dressed in black with white hair. He eyed her suspiciously before continuing on his way. She hugged the pillow closer. Dark was closing in on the small square Brooklyn Park and Vera would admit that she was a little scared. She had never gotten that far before on her own. Slowly she closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep on the swing.

* * *

_Thwhack!_

A loud thud echoed through Vera's head followed by an equally loud one which shook her body as she fell from the swing. Dizzy, she picked herself back up to see a small rubber ball at her feet.

"Over here!" rang a small voice from the other side of the tree from which the swing hung. A little boy with rust-colored hair waved for her to throw the ball back to him as she clutched the back of her head groggily. Most likely she would have a bump there soon. She bent down to pick up the ball, along with her gray cap where the two dollars were still safely tucked into the lining. She threw the ball back to the little boy, who caught it easily. A young woman of maybe twenty-five placed her hand on the boy's shoulder.  
"Say 'thank you' Edward." She said encouragingly with a sweet smile. The little boy turned back to Vera.

"Thanks lady!" he said quickly before returning to the other little boy he had been playing with. Vera smiled back at Edward's mother before picking up her rucksack and replacing the pillow. She felt a pang of jealousy for Edward. His mother cared about his manners. His mother cared period. She pushed thoughts of Donna out of her throbbing head and slung the rucksack over her shoulder, now walking in the new daylight.

As she walked further into Brooklyn towards the docks she felt her stomach growling viciously. She spied an apple vendor a ways down the street and started towards him. About to approach the vendor, a loud voice rang in her ear.

"Extra, extra! Pornographic priestess in local church! Read all about it!" yelled a voice with a thick Brooklyn accent. The headline caught her attention and she turned to the direction of the voice. A tough-looking boy of maybe sixteen in a cap similar to her own held a large stack of newspapers. She waved him towards her and asked for a paper handing him a penny. He nodded in thanks and she did the same.

'_Donna would eat this shit up.'_ She thought, turning to the page which supposedly had the story about the holy woman who had been letting her knickers down. She realized she had wasted a penny as she read the actual headline: "Pastor's Wife Lets Loose at Church Dance." Irritated at her own gullibility she continued towards the vendor. She picked up a shiny dark red apple and handed the vendor two bits. "Thank you sir." She said; the vendor grunted an incoherent response of some kind not smiling.

She bit into the apple, crisp and sweet. After spending a penny on the phony headline, as well as fifty cents on breakfast, she was left with three dollars and forty-nine cents in her rucksack, as well as the two dollars tucked into her cap.

Now all she had to do was make it last.

**Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I'll have more soon, hopefully. Review and tell me what you thought, be it good or bad.**

Peppermints and Powerchords,

Vertigo Showgirl


	2. Elizabeth

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter

**Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! Hopefully you guys liked it. Another huge thank you to my magnificent beta, Morbidlyartistic. If you want to read a quality fic, check out her story One Way Ticket. It's sincerely fabulous.**

I am so so so so so so SO sorry it took me this long to update. I just finished a job at a summer camp as well as a musical, and I'm just now starting to enjoy my summer (with one week until school starts. Joy). Thank you for being so patient with me!

By the way, the song lyric in the last chapter was in the phony headline, "Pornographic Priestess," a part of a line from "I Am The Walrus" by The Beatles. Nobody gets a brownie for the first chapter.

**Suggested Listening: None really for this chapter**

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies (but I now own the DVD! Yay!)

Nearly a month had gone by since Vera left her parents' apartment, and there wasn't a word or whisper from Donna and Felix about a missing child. She wasn't particularly surprised. A milk-carton ad for a lost kid might have been nice, but she knew her parents were too oblivious to even realize she done anything besides step out for an afternoon. That didn't stop her from hoping they missed her a little though.

She had been wandering through different parts of Brooklyn, traveling from her family's quiet block of apartments to what most would consider the slums of the borough. Currently, she was in a noisy marketplace. Her six dollars of savings were nearly gone, save for one of the two dollars still residing in the lining of her hat. Each time she saw something interesting, she thought to buy it, but then realized she had pissed away her savings and cursed herself. The newspapers were the thing she spent the most on, always getting all three editions per day, checking to see if Donna and Felix had put anything out looking for her. As aforementioned, she knew they probably hadn't noticed, and yet she continued wasting her coins. What she was more concerned about was that they had noticed… but just didn't care. Whenever the thought came up, she felt a gaping emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Sure, she didn't necessarily like the people she referred to as her parents, but it still hurt.

One of the newsboys she had grown accustomed to seeing around the city passed by, yelling the headline of the day. She willed herself not to buy a paper, knowing she'd be disappointed again when looking at the ads. The newsboy must have seen someone waving him over to buy a pape when he began to run and knocked into her. She fell back against a wall and the newsboy barely looked back.

"Hey, watch it!" she yelled to him. He made his sale to an older gentleman and glanced back with a hard stare. Surprised by how cold his gaze was, she shrank back and continued walking through the marketplace.

Knowing that she had to live on six dollars, she had been eating quite a bit more sparsely. Not that Donna and Felix pampered her with luxurious meals twenty-four-seven, but she had been accustomed to three square meals a day. Nowadays it was maybe an apple or a few fresh vegetables from street vendors. She was hungry most of the time and had become rather dirty from sleeping in alleyways and on park benches. Her hair had become even stringier than normal, now caked with grime and matted with tangles. She hadn't thought to put a comb into the rucksack when she had stormed off that night.

That particular morning, she had woken up in an alley behind a rather noisy diner. It was roughly nine in the morning, when customers first began to trickle in for breakfast. Supposedly the diner was famed for its pancakes, but Vera wouldn't really know, considering she was just a little broke. She awoke to the clatter of a garbage bag filled with who-knows-what being tossed into the dumpster she had been leaning against. The loud crash of broken plates that were no longer useful shattering further within the bag combined with the vibration sent through the cold metal had shaken her out of a rather uncomfortable sleep. However, in that month, she had become used to not sleeping quite so well. She had had to learn to hide herself during the nights. Men such as the one who had eyed her suspiciously that first night had revealed themselves to be hooligan-hunters. Street rats without homes ended up in what was known as the refuge. Vera didn't know where she would end up if caught, considering that the refuge she had observed from a distance was all boys, but she did not want to risk finding out.  
As she continued to walk, she found herself leaving the square and ending up closer to the shipyard. She wasn't far enough to where most of the neighborhood kids would usually go swimming in the April heat, but still had to fight the urge to plunge into the harbor to escape the sweltering summer air. She walked down one of the docks and began to sit down near the edge to see the murky water.  
_'It shouldn't be this hot so early in the morning. If I'm lucky I'll be inside when noon comes around. Heat of the day is bound to be hell.' _She thought as she knelt on the damp wood. It was caked with mildew and algae, but knowing that these were Felix's trousers, she truly didn't care what kind of crap got on them. She carefully removed her cap and set it down next to her on the dock, making sure that the dollar in the lining was secure.

She scooped water up onto her face to wake herself up. The slimy texture of the water was somewhat unpleasant to her skin, but beggars really can't be choosers. The water was freezing cold, as always, and she felt the back of her neck as well as her arms becoming covered with goose bumps as she splashed her face. Despite all the forms bacteria that were rolling down her face in icy droplets, it felt amazing. She brought her face up from the water and raised her head skyward, keeping her eyes closed. She felt the sun warming her cold, slightly numbed face. It probably wouldn't dry her face though, seeing as how intensely humid the day was.  
Slowly opening her eyes, she looked back down at the dark brownish green harbor. She could see her reflection somewhat. Though the water was rippling and unclear, she could make out patches of dirt, now running a bit with the droplets of cold water that remained clinging to her face. Somehow, her face looked a bit gaunter. It may have just been the quick-moving swells of the harbor, but it appeared that she had lost a little weight. She replaced her cap on her head, tucking her dirty hair up inside of it to keep it off of her neck in the heat. She felt carefully inside the cap to make sure that the dollar was still nestled in the lining. It was all she had left, and she'd be damned if she lost it by being careless. Standing up, she slung her rucksack back over her shoulders and felt the muscles in her neck spasm slightly. She gently massaged where she could feel knots. Sleeping against a hard metal dumpster may not have been the best idea.

With her collar damp, she started back up the dock and towards the market again. Her stomach yelled at her to fill it, much as it had been doing for the last four weeks. She had had to skip out on dinner the night before because the square was crawling with bulls. She had to hide in the alley where she had fallen asleep or else be caught. She drew nearer to the diner and as a customer opened the doors, she could smell the warm food steaming inside, the scent mingling with tobacco smoke pouring from the men who sat at the bar. Her stomach grumbled angrily once more. Carefully feeling for the dollar inside her cap again, she set back her shoulders and walked into the diner.

It was a noisy little place, with waiters yelling out orders to the cooks behind a pair of large doors. A large plate of pancakes was set down on the bar in front of a burly man with a cigar. The steam floated out towards the threshold where Vera stood, playing with her senses. She approached the bar where the menu and prices were displayed on a chalkboard. She read the sign and smiled.

_Glass of Milk – 0.50_

_Apple Turnover – 0.75_

_1 Flapjack – 1.00_

_Addition of Butter and Maple Syrup - 0.25_

She didn't have the extra quarter for butter and syrup, but she didn't even need the extra. A single pancake would be the equivalent of a lifetime of attention from Donna and Felix. She yelled over the noise to one of the servers.

"One flapjack!" she projected. The young man wearing an apron did not even glance at her, but held out his hand for her pay. She slipped the dollar out of her cap and into his hand. He repeated her order to one of the cooks and went on to the next customer. Vera leaned against a wall, waiting for the young man to return and yell out to her that her meal was ready. An older gentleman, perhaps the one who had bought the paper earlier that morning, walked into the establishment and leaned on the wall next to her. He shouted the same order as she had, though the young man in the apron did not acknowledge he had heard it. The older man turned and looked down at Vera.

"Lovely morning, wouldn't you say?" he said over the noise. Vera smiled slightly and nodded before they both turned back to the bar, waiting for their orders. The young man in the apron cupped his hands around his mouth, about to yell the next ready order.

"Order up, one flapjack!" he shouted, ringing the small bell next on the bar. Vera smiled, but before she could get to the plate that had been clanked down on the surface, the older gentleman lifted up the plate and left a dollar on the bar, which was quickly snatched up by the young man in the apron. Vera followed the man to the booth where he had sat down.

"I think that's mine." She said firmly. Her light smile from his earlier comment had left her face and was replaced by a hard glare. She was hungry, and no affluent twit was going to take her pancake.

"Is it?" the man said, making it quite clear he didn't believe her.

"Yes sir. I came in before you and used my last dollar on it. The waiter didn't hear your order. That one's mine. You wasted a dollar. I suggest you go back and order again." Vera said, looking more and the plate than at the man. His face softened slightly, seeing the streaks of dirt still on her face and her eyes focused on the food. He let out a short sigh.

"Your bottom dollar on a good breakfast, yes? Well then, I suppose it was my mistake, child." He said. Vera's hard expression quickly changed to one of surprise. Someone older than her had admitted being wrong to her… she had never experienced that before. The man pushed the plate towards her and stood back up, going back to the bar to reorder his breakfast. She smiled and tapped his shoulder. He turned back around with an expectant look.

"Sir, would you mind sparing a quarter? I've never had butter and syrup." She said. In all the years she'd lived with Donna and Felix, she'd never known where they kept most of the luxuries they talked on and on about. That would have required communication. The man smiled slightly, but made no move for his pocket.

"Don't push it." He said before turning back around. Vera shrank back again. She had been too confident. She picked up the pancake from the plate and exited the diner. He was out of money, but she was going to have something warm in her stomach; A fair tradeoff.

Exiting through the double-doors of the diner, she tore off a piece of the still-hot pancake and popped it into her mouth. Immediately, her mouth watered as she chewed and she smiled as it slid down her throat. She exhaled a satisfied sigh as she bounced down the stairs before she heard an odd noise. It sounded distinctly like a whimper or cry of some kind. She wandered cautiously into the alley beside the diner, tearing off another piece of the pancake.

A small girl of maybe six or seven years old sat against the dumpster outside the diner's back door. Vera shuffled awkwardly towards the dumpster, swallowing the second piece of the pancake. The little girl noticed the sound of Vera's worn boots on the pavement and began to scoot away in fear.

"It's okay… I won't hurt you." Vera cooed tentatively. The little girl stopped moving and looked up at her with big, sad blue eyes filled with tears. She eyed the pancake in her hand. Vera gave a small, crooked smile, and extended her hand to the little girl. The tiny urchin reached forth a dirty hand and took the pancake gratefully, biting off a large piece. Vera could see that under the copious amount of dirt and grime on the girl's face, she was actually quite a pretty little thing.

"Thank you… thank you so much." She said. Her voice was small and high-pitched, as though about to cry. Vera smiled at her and knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" she asked, studying the girl. She wore a tattered dress that may have been white once, but now was a dingy gray and black in some places. One sleeve was torn and hung there exposing her bare shoulder, which bore several scratches and a large purple bruise, though that was barely noticeable beneath all the dirt. Stark black tufts of hair stuck out at awkward angles, framing her face. There were streaks in the dirt on her cheeks, probably from tears and sweat.

"Elizabeth." She said, swallowing another large piece of the pancake. It was nearly gone now. For such a small mouth, a hungry kid could really put the food away.

"Where are your parents?" Vera asked her, stomach growling slightly still. She looked painfully at the last piece of fried batter as Elizabeth hungrily devoured it. The little girl merely shrugged. Maybe she cared as little about her mother and father as Vera did about the gossips who had conceived her by chance. Another painful question sat on the inside of her lips, and before she could wonder how horrible the answer might be, she blurted it out.  
"When's the last time you ate?" she said. Elizabeth looked upwards, as though trying to recall the answer. She turned to Vera with a blank face.

"I think about three weeks ago. I don't really remember." She said. Vera's heart lurched as she looked more carefully at Elizabeth. Where her little dress receded at the back of her neck, she could clearly see the girl's spine through her pale skin, as well as the hollows of her collarbone. She felt a sickening emptiness in the pit of her stomach that she knew wasn't from hunger.

Now penniless and without the food she had spent her bottom dollar on, she wondered what would become of her.

**That's it for chapter two! Again, I'm really sorry about how long it took me to update. Updates will hopefully be more frequent. Please review and tell me what you thought!**

Peppermints and Powerchords,

Vertigo Showgirl


	3. Tree

Thank you to those who reviewed the previous two chapters

**Thank you to those who reviewed the previous two chapters! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story thus far.**

**Anonymous reviewer "hrw" – There actually was no intended song lyric in the previous chapter, but you do get a brownie for enthusiasm! I played Miss Hannigan in eighth grade, and your mention of Annie brought up fun memories, so your brownie is well-earned. **

**Suggested Listening: "Hey You" by Pink Floyd (off of the album **_**The Wall**_**) (yes, I am addicted to Pink Floyd. Deal with it.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, just Vera and her family.**

Thunder clapped violently, followed by a brilliant flash of lightening across the New York skyline. Rain poured down mercilessly, the alleyway Vera rested in offering no cover. A week had passed since she met the little girl in the alley next to the diner and given away her last bit of food. She hadn't seen Elizabeth since that afternoon, nor had she eaten much. The vision of Elizabeth's frail and emaciated figure flashed in her mind each time her stomach growled and she felt a cold shock go through her body that she knew had nothing to do with the rain. She sat shivering in the alley, soaking wet, trying to shield her knapsack from the icy downpour. Her stomach growled fiercely once more.

She let out a whimper as another crack of thunder echoed through the air. For a moment, she thought of going back home. Back to Donna and Felix and their gossip. Images from the night she left flashed in her mind… they probably still didn't know she was gone, and the idea vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Then Elizabeth's hollowed face ran through her mind's eye again and she felt herself shudder even harder.

Vera wasn't quite sure where she was at this point. She remembered seeing the docks where she had washed her face on the way to the alley where she sat shivering, but after that, when the rain had started, she only saw the blurred dark images she had run past, trying to find some shelter from the storm. Through the bluish-silver sheets of rain, she could make out what looked like an apartment door opening. Another fork of lightening illuminated the night sky, shedding light on the figure entering the apartment. Yellow lights shone through the windows as silhouettes moved about. A few of the lights began to go out as the inhabitants went to bed. Startled by a new clap of furious thunder, much louder than the others had been, Vera let out a small scream. She felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes. If she stayed out here, she would catch pneumonia and die. If she crossed the street and begged for shelter, she ran the risk of being denied, but also had a shot at a warm bed.

She gathered up her rucksack in her arms, still being careful to shield it from the rain. Taking a deep breath, she ran out into the angry crossfire of rain and towards the apartment. The cold drops soaked her even further, their iciness nearly piercing through her skin and chilling her bones. The sound of her thin leather boots splashing in the flooded street was barely audible over the rush of blood pounding through her head.

Breathing hard, she reached the other side of the street and came to a stop. The awning of the building gave slight cover from the rain. She approached the door and knocked tentatively a few times. No one answered. Looking upwards, she saw that none of the lights were reflecting off of the awning anymore. She knocked once more, this time somewhat more aggressively, then trying to twist the doorknob in vain. She was locked out, and it was clear that nobody was going to let her in.

For the first time since she had left, Vera paid attention to the prickling behind her eyes. Hot tears spilt over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks, washing away the dirt and grime that the rain had missed. Sobs racked her body as she slumped down against the wall of the building. At least when she cried at home, Donna or Felix would maybe give her a sweet to get her to shut up. Now she simply sat there and cried with no one listening and no one caring. She briefly wondered how often Elizabeth cried. Her head ached as the tears continued to flood her eyes, landing on her already soaked shirt. Hugging her knapsack closer to her, the tears slowly came to a stop and she drifted into a restless sleep. The rain continued mercilessly, pounding on the awning like stones. The rain didn't care, and neither did anyone else.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my threshold."

Vera awoke to a harsh voice with a thick accent in her ear. The voice didn't say the words like a question, but more of a warning. Her eyes flickered open and the bright light of the morning caused them to squint. A cold gaze, one she thought she had seen before, came into focus. A pair of harsh blue eyes stared down at her. She realized if she turned her head to the side, she was level with a pair of worn boots. She began to pick herself up slowly and felt a light but sharp blow to her stomach. One of the boots had moved.

"What's your problem?" she accused sleepily, lightly clutching her abdomen as she stood up. She had never really been hit before. A couple of play-fights as a child gone awry, but never honestly had pain inflicted on her.

"Beat it, kid." the boy said as she faced him. He stood about three inches higher than her, still quite intimidating. She looked at his face for a moment, studying it. She recognized him as the newsboy who had glared at her in the square the day she met Elizabeth. Glancing up at the sign above the door, she read, "Brooklyn Boarding House for Working Boys." The boy staring at her looked even colder now.

"You gonna keep staring or do I gots to kick ya again?" he said, the irritation in his voice rising. His arms were crossed firmly as he glared at her. Vera snapped out of the early-morning stupor she had been in and registered what he had said. She nervously fumbled with the liner of her grey cap, trying to feel for the dollar that had been there for so long, but remembered that it wouldn't be there. Elizabeth flickered into her mind again before quickly fading out and leaving only cold blue eyes for her to stare at. Her eyes traveled to the ground, too intimidated by the boy's harsh face to speak.

"I… I'll work." She spoke timidly. The boy in front of her audibly scoffed.

"Why the hell would you think you can work in my territory?" He said coldly. Vera looked back up at him and took off her hat to show some form of respect, she guessed. Felix always took off his hat when talking to his boss, so she hoped the boy would get the message that she needed a job. Even with "respect," Felix almost lost his on a monthly basis. Her matted and tangled dark blonde hair fell from the cap as she held it to her chest.

"Please… I need a place to stay. If you let me stay, I'll work, I'll work hard…" she trailed off, still unable to look into the boy's face. He scared her. His nose wrinkled up in almost a face of disgust.

"Youse's a girl?" he said in what sounded like slight surprise. Vera merely nodded. The boy scoffed again. "Wouldn't know it." He said. She didn't respond. She knew she wasn't exactly stunning, but that was just uncalled for, though she didn't dare say anything back to him.

"I'll work hard." She repeated, her tone taking on a firmer sound.  
"Boarding house for workin' _boys_." He stated, nodding to the sign. Vera hadn't thought of that. She felt ice in the pit of her stomach, not knowing what she could say. He spoke again before she could think of anything.

"Eh, you're ugly enough that nobody'll notice." He said. A pang of embarrassment hit her, but it was better than nothing. She didn't consider herself gorgeous, but she certainly didn't think she was ugly. Maybe awkward-looking was a better description. She was unused to feeling this timid about things, but that young man in front of her was simply intimidating. At home with Donna and Felix, she had adapted to being quiet, but not necessarily shy. It didn't much matter, seeing as they hardly ever listened. "You ain't sleepin' in the bunk room, that's for sure. Couch in the common room isn't half bad. You'll be fine." He said, some of the ice disappearing from his tone. He and the boys behind him began to walk past the docks and towards the busy square. She followed behind them, one of the larger ones walking beside her. He stood at about six-four, completely dwarfing her. He looked down and saw the hard look on her face, showing the offence she had taken to the comment, as well as begrudging forced respect. His voice rumbled in a deep baritone.

"He ain't always that rough. Not with ladies at least." He said, not caring if their leader heard him. "You just caught him on a bad morning." It seemed as if he were somewhat trying to comfort her.

"Who is he?" she looked up at him. He cast a shadow over her, blocking out the bright sun that usually followed a storm. He had dark brown eyes, a head of thick chocolate curls, and a fine, handsome boyish face covered with freckles. In truth, he looked like an oversized little kid.

"He's the famous Spot Conlon. Ain't ya heard of Spot Conlon?" he said as though it were the name of the mayor. Vera simply shook her head. The tall boy continued. "He's the leader of us Brooklyn newsies an' he keeps us outta trouble an' representates us and stuff." He said. She smiled almost patronizingly at his vocabulary. "Who're you?" he asked. The question threw her off guard. Up until this point, it really seemed that no one had cared.

"Vera." She said. "Vera Scott. What's your name?" she asked him.

"That's a pretty name. They calls me Tree. Guess it ain't hard to tell why." He said with a gruff chuckle. Vera smiled as well, this time more genuinely as they reached a medium-sized building with open gates in front, leading to a small window with a bell on the outside. Spot turned around briefly to face her.

"Looks like you made a friend." He said almost sarcastically, sneering at Tree. "Ain't got the sense God gave a goat, but he can teach ya how to sell. It's fifty cents for a hundred papes. How much money you got?" Vera's eyes were cast downwards once again.

"None." She admitted quietly. Spot narrowed his eyes, annoyed. He reached into his pocket and sighed, flipping her a dime.

"That'll get you twenty. I expect every cent paid back, and the lodgin' fee is five cents a week." He said flatly before walking away to the front of the line that had formed. Vera kept her place beside Tree near the back of the line where several other newsies had joined behind them. She looked up to see Tree's eyes also wandering to the ground. Even someone as burly as him was clearly scared shitless of this famous Spot Conlon.

"Everybody's always sayin' I'm dumb. I ain't dumb, I just don't like thinkin'." He said glumly. "Ain't nobody ever listen when I gots somethin' to say." Vera smiled up at him.

"Nobody listens to me either. They don't think I'm stupid, they just don't care." She said empathetically. Tree shrugged. They reached the little window at the front of the line and he pushed her forward a bit harder than he'd meant to. She looked up at him once again for instructions, fiddling with the dime in her hand. He nodded towards the window. Tentatively, she handed the dime to the thin greasy man behind the counter.

"Twenty, please." She said, trying to hide her awkwardness. The man shouted to a few kids behind him and handed her a stack of newspapers. She stood off to the side, reading one of the headlines as she waited for Tree. A boiling heat and summer stench was sure to be coming over them by noon and she didn't want to wait too long to get started.

"Fifty papes," his voice boomed as he clacked a quarter down on the counter. The man handed him a larger stack of papers, which he then carried over his shoulder. Vera's eyes scanned the bolded title of a story to the left of the main headline. Of all the feelings she'd had hit her stomach in the past month and a half, this had to be the worst. Guilt, pain, fear, and emptiness all hit her at once and she wondered if she was going to be sick.

**Unidentified Orphan Found Dead in Alley**

_Roughly seven years old, the body a small girl in a tattered grey dress was discovered in an alley late last night by Nicolas de Lee, owner of Nick's Diner…_

Vera's vision was blurred as tears fought their way through her eyelids, threatening to spill at any moment. She angrily wiped them away before they could escape, leaving tiny stains on her sleeve. Tree lumbered over to her.

"You okay?" he asked. She tore her eyes away from the headline and nodded up at him. "Then why was you cryin'?" he asked more enthusiastically. He almost sounded like a child trying to comfort his mother.

"Just a sad headline," she said, shaking her head. He clapped her on the back, unintentionally knocking the wind out of her a little.

"Well it'll sell better. People likes readin' sad stories." He said. "What does it say?" he asked, leaning in closer to look at the bolded words. He squinted as though really having trouble with it. "What's an or-pin?" he asked.

"An orphan," Vera corrected. Tree nodded, understanding.

"I don't read so good. Mr. Derris at the distribution winda' reads me the main headlines and I don't really bother with the others. Too many fancy words." He said sort of sadly. "That don't make me stupid though. I'll show 'em one day and they'll quit callin' me a dummy. You'se don't think I'm a dummy do ya?" he asked hopefully. Vera smiled as she looked upwards into his sunny disposition.

"No." She said, shaking her head good-naturedly. With another warm grin, he clapped her back again and guided her into the streets for her first day of hawking headlines.

**Once again, very sorry for the delay on updates. I'm sort of just lazy, but now that the story is moving a little faster I can hope to promise new chapters sooner. Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know how you liked it.**

Peppermints and Powerchords,

Vertigo Showgirl


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